Molly Hooper, The Blabber Mouth
by RicardianScholar Clark-Weasley
Summary: at this dramatic moment in the time where everyone is mourning Sherlock, Molly confesses everything, all Mycroft could think is what caused Sherlock to choose such a blabber mouth to help him fake his death.


Molly was burning.

She was so overlooked, so underestimated, so insignificant, all to the point that Moriarty who had even dated her forgot to put a hit out on her as well as Mrs Hudson, John, and Lestrade. And yet in his final moments Sherlock finally opened his eyes and actually saw her. _Her_, the mousy, shy, pale, timid Molly Hooper. He saw a friend in her and that was the best she could ever get from him and despite the disappointment it had actually made her very happy and she was now able to move on from her crush. He asked her for help.

And help she gave him.

She stood there. Tiny, unnoticeable, and easily forgotten. She stood there right behind him as he spoke to John on the phone. She struggled greatly with the dead weight of the body she had dressed in an imitation of Sherlock's clothes and when the sun reached the right point and the world was blinded Sherlock stepped out of the way and she pushed the dead body of some young handsome man off the top of Bart's.

Sherlock then pulled her down onto the roof and they laid there side by side as the world screamed below them. Molly had been partially glowing and indulging herself as she felt the body heat of one, Sherlock Holmes, as if they were lying in bed one Sunday afternoon indulging themselves a day of rest. This feeling was soon drowned out by John Watson's shouts and cries and that hopeless look of sheer loss on Sherlock's face.

She will always be a friend first before a selfish indulging person.

So she saw Sherlock off and was surprised by another sweet kiss on the cheek in thanks and went on with her life.

Until a month later at Sherlock's funeral.

John was so..._lifeless_. He had that dead look in his eye, he moved stiffly and slowly as if he wasn't quite sure he was supposed to move, and he was so pale you would have thought he was a ghost at his own funeral. Mrs Hudson was supporting him, her arm linked into his and her head resting on his shoulder as she wept and sobbed so loudly that she echoed across the small church. It was as if there was a hundred Mrs Hudson's wailing in unison. And Greg Lestrade, Molly's newest friend looked so guilty and shamelessly cried in silence throughout the service as he buried his face in his hands unable to look. Mycroft Holmes and his mother were silent and grave as the dead though there were tears in Mrs Holmes' eyes and Mycroft was fingering a pack of cigarettes – the vice all Holmes fall into when they are depressed or bored. There were a few other people, some Molly recognised, some she didn't, and they were all either crying or mourning with grim expressions. It was so depressing and Molly was now burning.

She was burning with the secret.

She was burning with the guilt.

She was burning so much that she was surprised God had not strike her down and she was a pile of ashes smoking in the church.

She. Can. Not. Do. This.

She stood up; her cheeks flushed with the burning heat, and shouted so loudly she was sure all of Scotland could hear her let alone this little church, "I have a confession!"

They all turned to look at her. She was feeling so embarrassed that she was certain even her little toe was blushing.

"Molly?" Greg said softly, concern written all over his face.

"I have a confession," she repeated quietly.

"Erm...well that is nice, my dear, but this isn't a Catholic Church and we're in a middle of a funeral," the priest said uncomfortably.

"This isn't a funeral it's a farce," Molly said with a surprising amount of strength, "Sherlock isn't dead. I need to confess, I can't bear seeing everyone look so miserable. I helped him fake his death. We used a trick of light so I can push over an already dead body and then we used the chaos that caused to sneak Sherlock out of the building and probably out of the country."

There was a deadly silence.

Everyone stared at her.

Well everyone but Mycroft who had face palmed and then pulled his mobile phone out.

"What?" John said finally. His voice was quiet and soft, and oh so very deadly. "Repeat that again."

"Sherlock faked his death!" Molly squeaked.

There were many angry or disbelieving or shocked mutterings from the crowds at this.

"I thought you said that," John said calmly before throwing his cane down on the ground, rolling up his sleeves, and marching towards the doors of the church, he then turned round and said, "I'm going to hunt Sherlock down, he better have a very good excuse or I'll be bringing back a body for us to have a funeral for." He then threw open the doors and marched out of them.

Mrs Hudson picked up John's cane and Molly gulped at the almost demonic glint in her beady eyes. The sweet innocent old lady that Molly once knew was gone and in her place was a woman scorned and hell hath no fury to match that.

"I think I will help John and use this to beat some sense into that boy's head," she muttered.

Lestrade was stroking his gun and looked less guilty and angrier. "I think I may just join you."

Molly was soon distracted by the fact Mrs Holmes was screaming at Mycroft in rapid French with him humbly murmuring "Yes Mummy, No Mummy, Never Again Mummy, I Promise Mummy," over and over again as he was obviously trying to appease his mother.

Who knew the Holmes brothers were such Mama boys?

Meanwhile out there on the other side of the world Sherlock froze as he felt a shiver run down his spine. For some reason his instincts told him he was in great danger.

There was a loud beep as a text came in through his phone momentarily distracting him.

_Molly Hooper is a blabber mouth, John and others out for your blood – MH. _

Sherlock groaned and bashed his head against the table. What in god's name was he thinking of trusting Molly with a secret like that?

After all she blabbed to everyone about the time she caught him and John kissing in the morgue.


End file.
